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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317884">Pink Sparks Like Raindrops (or Bugs)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilplusterrors/pseuds/hilplusterrors'>hilplusterrors</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ACCIDENTAL True Love's Kiss, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, True Love's Kiss, and Hansen has to save his stupid ass, emotions are Everywhere I'm talking MASSIVE mood swings, idiots to lovers, in which Nath is Not Very Smart, rating for basically being high/drunk the whole time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:26:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27317884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilplusterrors/pseuds/hilplusterrors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Black Nilka: Very powerful. Side effects include but are not limited to: giddiness, moodiness, memory issues, loss of impulse control, strong emotional outbursts, and mild to severe headaches. Behavior similar to that of drunken behavior. Effects from a standard dosage (1 oz/30 ml) usually last one to two full days Stronger doses increase effects proportionally. Not harmful, but not recommended in large doses.</p><p>OR</p><p>Nath drinks the spiked punch at a party. The good news? His best friend is a master potioneer and can fix him right up. The bad news? He's hopelessly in love with said best friend, and being hopped up on love juice is NOT the ideal way to conceal crushes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nathaniel/Mark Hansen, Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pink Sparks Like Raindrops (or Bugs)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an original work that will likely become part of a larger story, in which case I will probably take it down, so. Enjoy while it's here!</p><p>I listened to a LOT of AURORA while writing this, because she has the range and the vibes, dear. Her official playlist does not have a single version of Queendom, which is unforgivable, so follow mine by Ava the dragon princess on Spot/fy to also get a few songs I only found by searching her name and is updated with every new release.</p><p>Look for the cavetown reference! 50 points to whoever finds it first! I was originally going to name this after Sweet Tooth, but entered it into a contest and needed permission, which I couldn't get, so I threw a different one in there instead.</p><p>I swear Nath isn't some nameless hobo he has a last name I just don't know what it is yet because I didn't need him to have one here please don't judge me I'll update this and the tags when I figure it out</p><p>Also he's not usually this spastic he's literally high don't judge him (too) harshly</p><p>ALSO his nickname is pronounced 'Nat'</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>Olive wrestles me into the backseat of her car so roughly that I hit my head on the doorframe. "Stop fighting me!"</p><p> </p><p>I do not stop fighting her until the door is closed and locked. "That girl was into me! You saw her! Let me out!</p><p> </p><p>Olive does not let me out. She simply settles herself in the driver's seat and starts the engine. "Buckle up, buttercup," she snaps, not waiting for me to do so before pulling out into the road away from Lindsay and Beckett Garden's house.</p><p> </p><p>I tug at the door handle. It does no good, of course, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little wonky right now. I fiddle with the lock until it clicks open, but Olive immediately punches the button on her door to stop me. "Sit still, would you?"</p><p> </p><p>I will not. She stops at the end of the street and twists in her seat to look at me. "Nath, I said SIT STILL." Her green eyes crackle with danger, but I ignore this.</p><p> </p><p>"Why did you do that? You made me look like a jerk to that girl. Come on, take me back." I yank the handle again, to no avail, not caring that I sound really whiny.</p><p> </p><p>Purple-stained fingers snap in my face, and, against my will, my body goes rigid. It sits itself properly in my seat, and the seatbelt buckles itself over me. "That girl didn't want to talk to you. Neither did the one before her. And that guy that was all over you is bad news and you know it. I'm doing you a favor, so shut up and sit still."</p><p> </p><p>I scowl and wiggle, but Olive's spell is strong. I'm stuck with my hands in my lap and my feet on the floor. Torture.</p><p> </p><p>She smirks. "That's better." I stick my tongue out at her. She loves rubbing it in, that she's better at practical magic than me. I can hardly put books back on their shelves or turn off my lights, much less change my appearance or hold someone in place. My parents tell me all the time that historical and biblial magic is just as important and useful as physical, but, well. That's no different than telling your kid that he doesn't have to be strong if he's smart, that one is just as good as the other. You can say it all you want, but no one really cares. At least Hansen doesn't rib me about it like Olive, even though he's an incredible potioneer.</p><p> </p><p>My thoughts wander as we drive. They mostly circle around attractive people and run over the same thought that it would be really nice to have someone to make out with right now. They drift, of course, toward a specific handsome young man with the cutest freckles and the most enchanting eyes I know. To a smile with slightly crooked teeth, to a soft chuckle that always leaves me feeling weak, to large, warm hands on my shoulders that I wish were anywhere else, on my cheeks, on my waist, on my hands, I'm not that picky. I wonder what his lips would feel like . . .</p><p> </p><p>I sigh. If only.</p><p> </p><p>There is an abnormal amount of purple in front of me for it being hair. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize that it must be dyed. It's a nice color.</p><p> </p><p>I glance at the rearview mirror to get a look at my driver. She's pretty, though she looks kind of annoyed. Her gaze flicks up, and she catches me staring. "What?"</p><p> </p><p>Definitely annoyed. Also VERY pretty. "Nice hair," I say with a debonair smile. "You do it yourself?"</p><p> </p><p>She scowls and looks back at the road. "I'm a lesbian," she says shortly.</p><p> </p><p>Dang. Pity. Now that I look closer at her, I see that she does look pretty gay. Several piercings in various parts of her face, a purple pixie cut, a choker with a silver word that I can't make out on her throat. I should have guessed. I sigh again and lean against the door, letting my thoughts drift again.</p><p> </p><p>When the car stops, it surprises me. I was used to the feeling of moving. Now that I'm not, I'm more aware of the fact that I'm sitting still.</p><p> </p><p>When I do nothing, the purple-haired driver in the front seat snaps her fingers, and my seatbelt unbuckles itself. "Get out," she snaps. I do.</p><p> </p><p>I simply stand in the driveway, admiring the house before me. Pretty. Simple, homey, nice. Familiar too, but my thoughts are kind of jumbled and I'm not sure why.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you waiting for something?" I'm rather surprised by Purple Hair beside me. I forgot about her.</p><p> </p><p>I put on a winning smile. "Just you, beautiful."</p><p> </p><p>She wrinkles her nose and ignores me, choosing to resist my charm and march to the door. "Come on." I follow.</p><p> </p><p>The inside is as pleasant and vaguely familiar as the outside, but Purple Hair doesn't give me a chance to admire it. She drags me by the upper arm, like I'm a toddler (which might just be fair, because I'm definitely a bit wobbly), to a large basement cluttered with herbs, test tubes, potion and spell books stacked nearly head-high, and bottles of liquids in various colors. A young man with a violently red ponytail and a colorful plaid button-up, complete with rolled-up sleeves, turns from a project on a station against the far wall to greet the intruders. He smiles warmly at us, glass-green eyes sparkling, and I fall in love immediately.</p><p><br/>
"Hey," he says. 'Hey.' I've never thought a word could be beautiful, but that one seems to be.</p><p> </p><p>Have I mentioned that my mind is a mess?</p><p> </p><p>"What's up?" He frowns, glancing from my face to Purple Hair's grip on my arm.</p><p> </p><p>She shakes me. "Nath is an idiot is what's up," she says, more angrily than I would think necessary. Why is she angry at me? I try to think back, but before getting out of the car, everything is a bit messy. I remember music? Drinks? Maybe a party? A party sounds right. Maybe I did something dumb. Am I drunk? maybe that's why I can't think straight. Haha. Can't think straight. Classic. I can never think straight. Gotta love gay jokes. Or, should I say, bi jokes? Haha. Yeah . . .</p><p> </p><p>The Glorious Ponytail Bearer is speaking. Asking what I did this time. What did I do? I can't remember. I can't even remember what I was just thinking about.</p><p> </p><p>"He drank the punch is what he did," says the purple pixie. "It was spiked with some love potion, or at least that's my best guess. He's been hitting on everyone he comes across ever since. Do something."</p><p> </p><p>The redheaded beauty scratches his chin, drawing my attention to stubble the same color as his hair, though not quite as bright. So it's really that red . . .</p><p> </p><p>"Any idea what it was?" he asks.</p><p> </p><p>Pixie - what is her name? I know her name - offers him a cup I didn't notice earlier. "No, but I brought some back. Thought you'd be able to tell."</p><p> </p><p>He nods and takes the cup. He examines the drink inside, sniffs it, grunts. "It doesn't smell like anything but punch. Probably Black Nilka, judging . . . that." He gestures at me, and I realize that I've moved as close to him as Purple Pixie would let me. So, am I, like, mega-drunk? On love potion? I would think that I'd be smarter than that. "How long ago was this, would you say? And how much did he have?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've got no idea. I dragged him away as soon as I noticed, but I don't know what he managed to do before that."</p><p> </p><p>"Hmm." The Red Beauty turns his glorious gaze upon me. "Do you remember how much you had?" he asks me.</p><p> </p><p>I shake my head, grinning winningly.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, unfazed by my charm. "Sit down." He gestures at a chair in the corner of the room, then turns to Purple Pixie. "I'll see what I can do. It might take a while, though."</p><p> </p><p>She nods. "Just get him out of my hair." I grin. She notices this, apparently, because she adds, "I'm serious, Mark. I'm not coming back down here or taking him home until he's back to normal."</p><p> </p><p>Mark - oh, what a perfect name for someone this beautiful! - gives her a thumbs-up. "Worry not. He'll be fine." He looks back at me, eyes mesmerizing. I notice freckles, countless freckles, spattered across his nose and cheeks, even on his arms and hands, which are faintly stained with something black. "Sit down. I need to keep an eye on you." He points again at the chair in the corner. I don't want to sit in that chair. It's distinctly too far away from his workstation.</p><p> </p><p>When I don't move, he sighs, grabs my arm, pulls me to the chair, and pushes me down into it. "Stay." He turns to Purple Pixie. "I'll take care of him, Olive. Go . . . do whatever. I've got this."</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs. "Sure. Have fun." She flounces to the stairs and doesn't look back at me once.</p><p> </p><p>Mark sighs and turns to a stack of books. I watch, less interested than dazed and attracted, as he runs a finger down their spines. Close to the floor, he finds the one he wants and grunts, frustrated. He takes far longer than necessary to wiggle it free and winds up knocking the stack over anyway. He leaves the mess, rifling through the book's pages and clearing a place for it on his workstation in the artful manner of shoving everything to one side.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he's not as neat and tidy as I thought. Maybe he does like Hansen and just waves a hand at the end of the day and-</p><p> </p><p>Wait. I shake my head, but that hurts. He IS Hansen. Mark is Mark Hansen, what am I even thinking? How drunk am I right now? Or, drugged. What am I even on? I can't remember. I actually forgot about Hansen. How do you manage to forget the entire existence of your best friend? I'm a mess right now, stars . . .</p><p> </p><p>HANSEN is rummaging through a tall cabinet of bottles and boxes, piling ingredients into his arms haphazardly. He mumbles something, probable the ingredient list, under his breath. I decide that I'm tired of sitting and get up to look at this book he's got out.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you doing?" I jump. How did he get over here with all of that stuff so quietly?</p><p> </p><p>"Lookin' at this," I say. My voice sounds funny. Drunk. It sounds drunk. "What're YOU doin'?" I don't look up, as I'm trying to read what's on this page, though that's hard. The small letters keep moving, and the big ones make words I don't know.</p><p> </p><p>"Nath." Hansen pokes my shoulder. I look at him now and grin. I like how close he's standing; our arms are kind of touching. He steps back, and my grin falls. Killjoy. "Go sit down. I'm trying to fix you up, and you're in my way."</p><p> </p><p>Now I frown. "Tha's not nice." He should be nicer to his friends.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm serious, Nath. Sit down."</p><p> </p><p>I turn back to the book, even though I can't understand a single word on the page. "Don' wanna."</p><p> </p><p>He sighs. He does that too much. "You're in my way, Nath. Move."</p><p> </p><p>My frown deepens and I stay where I am. Hansen grabs my upper arm (I wish I worked out more, then I'd actually have some muscles, that'd be nice, big strong muscles so my lack of physical magic wouldn't be so annoying, yeah, that'd be great-) and drags me back to the chair. I don't really fight him, I mostly just drag my feet and pout when he tells me to "stay."</p><p> </p><p>Hansen starts to work his magic on the stuff. He's using an actual cauldron, I forgot he did that, the old-fashioned weirdo, a really small one sitting on a fire with no visible source. The smoke keeps changing colors as he adds new ingredients. It's pretty cool, or it would be. If I was paying attention to the actual potionwork. My eyes are, instead, locked on those BICEPS, because they are NICE.</p><p> </p><p>Next thing I know, I'm behind him, running my hands over his muscles. He jumps away from me, and in his surprise flings tingly pink sparks into my face. I sneeze. "Dude." Hansen rubs his face. "Sorry. Sit down."</p><p> </p><p>I pout and go back to my chair, arms crossed. "I wanna watch."</p><p> </p><p>"Too bad. You're in the way."</p><p> </p><p>My scowl deepens. "I distinctly remember you being nicer."</p><p> </p><p>Hansen has the nerve to chuckle. I want to die. I love his laugh. It's magical. It sounds like his magic feels, too. Warm and tingly and soft. Green and pink and red. Like him.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm afraid your memory's pretty bad then." He's not looking at me, but I can hear a grin in his voice. I stick my tongue out at his back.</p><p> </p><p>A spark stings my forehead. "Hey!"</p><p> </p><p>Hansen glances at me, and sure enough, he's grinning wide enough that I can see his silver tooth. I can't even be mad. His smile is too . . . <em>much</em> for me to hate. "You think I can't tell what you're up to? I know you better than you know yourself."</p><p> </p><p>Ha. You don't know everything about me. You have no idea how much I want-</p><p> </p><p>He flicks his fingers at me, and more pink sparks shower my head like raindrops. Or bugs. They tingle like bugs landing on me, but now that I'm not caught by surprise, it's nice instead of off-putting. "Now stay put, would you?"</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't sound too serious, so when his back is turned again I creep up behind him, watching his process over his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>The way he works is beautiful. His fingers dance across the table to grab a bundle of herbs, while the other hand carefully twirls one finger to stir the mixture while also focusing the flame to the proper heat. It smells weird, but nice. Rather suddenly, he grabs a nearby flask and sweeps it through the smoke, capturing as much of it as possible. He stoppers it and sets it aside in one deft movement and pauses for an instant to rub his face and inhale deeply.</p><p> </p><p>I sigh. He has such beautiful hands. I remember the last time I held one of them, while jumping into a lake, and how, even though it was a purely platonic gesture for him to grab my hand in that moment, it still set my heart to pounding. I'd like to hold his hand again. But he's using both of them. Oh well. He'll be fine.</p><p> </p><p>I grab one of his wrists, and he yelps. He jerks his hand away from me and elbows me, hard, at the same time. "Dude!" I jump back, rubbing my side where he nailed me. "What are you doing? I told you to stay over there!"</p><p> </p><p>I frown at him. "Well, I don't want to stay over there. It's boring."</p><p> </p><p>With a scowl, he places a hand on my chest and pushes me back toward the dreaded chair. "If you don't stay put," he tells me in a voice that he's trying to make threatening, "I'll spell you still. Just chill out, would you?"</p><p> </p><p>Hansen doesn't understand. I can't "chill out," not with him being so cool and handsome and over there, away from me. I NEED to be close to him, to feel his hands and his hair and smell his stupid potioneer smell that makes me sneeze but I love anyway. I need his arms around me, I need his chest pressed against mine, I need his lips on my lips. I NEED him. I've wanted him forever, but right now I NEED him.</p><p> </p><p>I cling to his arm and whine, "No, come on. Let me watch you. I'll behave." Lies, but he doesn't need to know that.</p><p> </p><p>He pushes me off. "No you won't. You'll only distract me. This is a delicate process, and if you make me mess up, I'll have to start all over. Now stay." He forces me onto the chair with a firm grip on my shoulders. Then, he turns his back on me and goes back to his potion.</p><p> </p><p>Stupid potion. Why is it so important anyway? No one's been poisoned, have they? And why do I have to sit here and watch without moving like some sort of prisoner? I can't remember. The harder I try to think, the less I can grasp, and the more my head hurts. I'm pretty sure that just a minute ago, I could think clearly, but now I feel like my mind is filling up with tar.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe I should be a little more scared right now, but I'm practically indifferent to the fact that my head is all muddy. It's not that important anyway. Who cares what I think. He's still here, isn't he? That's what really matters. Hansen and his electric ponytail are with me, even if he isn't paying any attention to me. I want him to. Look at me. Look. Look at me, Hansen. See me. LOOK AT ME.</p><p> </p><p>He jumps and twists to do just that. "Hey! Could you not? That hurt," he snaps, rubbing at his cheek. Oops. I must have zapped him by accident.</p><p> </p><p>"Sorry," I mumble. He turns away, and I sigh. Why can't he pay attention to me?</p><p> </p><p>I want his attention so much more than makes sense. I want him to sit down in front of me, to talk to me, or not, maybe just look at me and, I don't know, BE there with me. Be together without doing anything.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe to make out with me. That would be nice too. Preferable.</p><p> </p><p>I practically bounce back over to him. He huffs, but decides to ignore me for the moment. Mistake.</p><p> </p><p>I rest my chin on Hansen's shoulder, leaning as necessary when he moves. He stiffens at first, but relaxes under me after a few seconds. I'm quiet for once, which he probably appreciates. I sigh, settling into a comfortable spot. My nose twitches at the sharp smell of herbs. It's not unpleasant, just strong. I inhale deeply, enjoying the sharp green scent mixing with the warm yellow potion and Hansen's natural potioneer musk, a pleasant golden-green smell that clings to his clothes and hair and even his skin. He shivers, at my breath, I guess. It's actually pretty warm down here.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you making?" I ask. I honestly can't remember, but it must be important.</p><p> </p><p>He twists, pushing me off in the process (why why why) and shaking himself like he was distracted. "Antidote. You drank punch spiked with some pretty strong love juice." He guides me back to that stupid chair, gentle this time. "I need you to stay over here so I can finish it."</p><p> </p><p>"But I don't care if you finish it," I complain. I don't. I'm fine. "Pay attention to me."</p><p> </p><p>Hansen frowns at me. "That's not really an option. I can't just leave you spiked on Black Nilka, it'll take forever to wear off, especially if you had a lot. And knowing you, you did."</p><p> </p><p>I chuckle, but my face falls when he turns his back on me AGAIN.</p><p> </p><p>"Hey!"</p><p> </p><p>"What?" he asks, looking bemused and annoyingly beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>"Stop ignoring me." My voice is too loud, not yelling, but not speaking normally either. But I don't care. I'm tired and my head is starting to pound. "I'm right here, and you're right here, and I want you to stop ignoring me."</p><p> </p><p>Hansen's mouth twists. "Sorry, Nath. This is important."</p><p> </p><p>"It's ALWAYS important!" I'm surprised by my anger, but roll with it. "I'm more important than some potion, aren't I? Aren't I your friend? Can't you see that I'm in pain?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Woah," Hansen says, hands out. "Woah, hey. Chill out, it's okay."</p><p> </p><p>"It's NOT okay!" I jump to my feet. "I need you! I need you, now, and you're ignoring me like I'm a kid! 'Sit down, Nath,' 'Chill out, Nath,' 'You're in my way, Nath.' Stop brushing me off! Why won't you look at me?!"</p><p> </p><p>He flinches, eyes flicking up to meet mine for only a moment before glancing toward his stupid potion. "I- Nath, come on," he says weakly. "Don't you think you're . . . being unreasonable?"</p><p> </p><p>I. Roar. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" I scream. Hansen takes several steps back, eyes darting around the room. "YOU DON'T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY! I AM IN PAIN, AND YOU WON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!"</p><p> </p><p>Hansen flinches and meets my eyes. "N-Nathaniel, please." His hands are shaking.</p><p> </p><p>I deflate. I'm weak. I'm weak for him. He could probably ask anything of me.</p><p> </p><p>"P-please. What, uh. What do you mean? When you say that you, uh . . ." He flushes. "That you . . . need me?"</p><p> </p><p>I can't even respond; I simply bellow my frustration. A part of me knows that I'm freaking him out, and that I am, in fact, being unreasonable, but I'm not kidding about being in pain. My head is throbbing now, every movement sending sharp spikes of pain through my skull. My limbs, too, ache as though I'm a preteen entering a growth spurt, along with being so shaky I can barely stand. Wasn't I okay just a few minutes ago? I can't even remember, I can barely think at all except for the thought pounding in my head over and over again: I. Need. Hansen. I need his attention, I need his affection, I need his touch, I need him to kiss me. And I can't seem to articulate this. That's what frustrates me the most.</p><p> </p><p>Hansen's eyes are everywhere, always darting back to me, but zooming around the room, like he's looking for a solution. I'm scaring him.</p><p> </p><p>My shoulders slump. I feel awful. The anger drains out of me as suddenly as it rushed in, and I sink back into my abandoned chair. "I'm sorry," I say in a quiet, subdued voice. "I-" What? I still don't know how to tell him what I need.</p><p> </p><p>He comes to me, kneels in front of me, puts his warm, grounding hands on my shoulders. "Hey. Breathe." He inhales, slowly, deeply, then exhales, encouraging me with his expression to imitate him. I do my best, and my breathing slows down, though my hands are still shaking in my lap. "There you go." His voice is soothing. "There you go."</p><p> </p><p>Our gazes are locked together. His eyes seem to swirl; the colors in them shift almost constantly in the dim lighting. It's mesmerizing, enchanting.</p><p> </p><p>He looks down for a moment, at a stain on my shirt, and when he looks at my face again, he doesn't meet my eyes. I wish he would.</p><p> </p><p>"Nathaniel. What . . . what do you need?"</p><p> </p><p>I still don't know how to answer him with words. But he's so close, right here. It would be so easy . . .</p><p> </p><p>I lean forward and tilt Hansen's chin up with two fingers. He blinks, a surprised blush rising on his cheeks. I hesitate. Then, I don't.</p><p> </p><p>I close the gap and gently press my lips against his.</p><p> </p><p>For an eternity, neither of us moves. We simply are, lips touching, not breathing, eyes closed. Then, someone moves, I'm not sure which one of us, and it changes. Our lips part for an instant, then carefully press back together.</p><p> </p><p>We don't exactly fall into a rhythm - we keep changing what we're doing. One moment, we're kissing as cautiously as if it's both my first and his (it's neither), then his hands wind into my hair and the angle changes to something with a little heat and our mouths open a little, then I'm wrapping trembling fingers around his wrists to slow him down and we fall back into that series of small, soft kisses. A few times, his stubble scrapes against my chin (this is why I shave, dude), but it's a nice feeling. A lovely kind of scratchy.</p><p> </p><p>My head is buzzing with excitement - Mark Hansen is kissing me! I'm kissing my best friend, and he's kissing me back! My skin tingles with the same feeling pulsing through me, bright blue and almost painfully hot, and the mud in my brain is draining away. I'm not sure if it's because I'm finally getting what my entire being has been aching for, or if I'm just in luck, timing-wise, but my thoughts are definitely clearing, though not necessarily coherent.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth is so sweet.</p><p> </p><p>He's a GOOD kisser, that's for sure and certain. We're starting to build some heat up again, and his tongue feels EXTREMELY nice tracing my lips and slipping between them. I sigh into his mouth, the frenzy that is my mind right now starting to slow down a bit. I can't believe this is happening. He's on his knees and I STILL have to tilt my head back to kiss him properly (he's not even taller than me, it's not fair), but still . . . <em>Mark Hansen</em> is kissing me . . .</p><p> </p><p>Why in the name of Lupus is Hansen kissing me? What the mortem am I doing? <em>Why am I kissing him?</em> I jerk back, breathless, wanting nothing more than to lean back in at the sight of my <em>best friend</em> kneeling in front of me, lips red and face flushed, looking at me like . . . well, like I look at him when his back's turned. What am I <em>doing?</em></p><p> </p><p>I blink rapidly and try to sort through the past several minutes. My head is much clearer now, and I wish it wasn't. Stars, what was I doing?</p><p> </p><p>Oh stars. <em>Oh</em><em> stars. </em></p><p> </p><p>I just made an idiot of myself while hopped up on love juice and made out with my best friend. What. Have. I. Done.</p><p> </p><p>"N-Nathaniel?" Hansen's voice is kind of hoarse, and that does more to me than is convenient at the moment. "Are you- you okay?"</p><p> </p><p>I shake my head and wince, expecting it to hurt, but it doesn't. "No, I-" I have no idea what to say. What the mortem am I supposed to say?</p><p> </p><p>Hansen stands abruptly, concern written all over him, in his eyebrows, his hands reaching aimlessly toward me, the twist at his mouth. "What is it? Does something hurt? What do you need?"</p><p> </p><p>"I-I-" I stand too, but that leaves me entirely too close to him, our chests almost touching. I step back, shoving the chair away as I do. I can't look at him. What is wrong with me? What was I thinking? Was I even thinking?</p><p> </p><p>No. I wasn't thinking. I just <em>wanted,</em> so I took.</p><p> </p><p>Hansen looks so freaked out, it's almost funny. I've never seen him so . . . non-composed. I hate how much I love seeing his hair messed up, love knowing that I did it. He's distraught, and it's my fault.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm-I'm sorry," I stammer, turning away from him. "I don't-I didn't mean-" I rub my face, mind racing. "I'm so sorry. I can't-I can't believe I did that." I will never be able to look at him again.</p><p> </p><p>It's over. I've tried so hard to keep my feelings from messing this up, and I've just undone all of that work with one kiss. <em>Several, actually,</em> my mind helpfully reminds me. He's horrified. He'll probably never speak to me again after this, after just <em>taking</em> from him like that.</p><p> </p><p>"What are you talking about? What's wrong?" Hansen grabs my arm and pulls, but I can't look at him.</p><p> </p><p>"Ev-everything," I choke. "I am so, so sorry, Hansen, really, I didn't mean to - I'm sorry." It's not enough. I know it isn't.</p><p> </p><p>Hansen scowls, I see out of the corner of my eye. "What are you on about? Chill out, would you? You didn't do anything-" His voice hitches. I finally look at him, to see the blood drain from his cheeks. "You-you-" He releases my arm. I brace myself. The anger is coming.</p><p> </p><p>Hansen turns around and rubs almost violently at his face. I realize that my hands are shaking and hide them behind my back as I turn to face him, clasping them firmly to keep them from grabbing.</p><p> </p><p>When he turns back around, Hansen wears a forced sort of calm on his face. "Nath," he says in a tone as cautious as his movements, "how's your head?"</p><p> </p><p>That makes me stop. What? Why would he ask that?</p><p> </p><p>"How's your, uh . . . thinking? Is it . . . clearing up?"</p><p> </p><p>I'm completely confused now. "I . . . guess so? I'm not, like, feeling high right now or anything . . ."</p><p> </p><p>I blink. My choice of words makes me think. I'm feeling . . . normal. Like . . .</p><p> </p><p>Like the spell has been lifted.</p><p> </p><p>But that's impossible, a part of me thinks. I doesn't work that way.</p><p> </p><p>Except when it does.</p><p> </p><p>Oh <em>stars.</em> What . . .</p><p> </p><p>I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine. No headache, no buzzing, no spiraling. "I'm . . . fine," I say softly, hesitantly, because half of me is both afraid and hopeful that the effects will come crashing back down on me. But they don't. They're gone. "It's gone . . . but that means . . ."</p><p> </p><p>"True-True Love's-do you think-"</p><p> </p><p>"True Love's Kiss," I breathe. That's-that's the only explanation, other than an antidote. It's a genuine cure-all. It's stronger than literally anything. Most of the time, it's one of only two cures - like now. It has to be - but it can't! That would mean that Hansen . . .</p><p> </p><p>As if reading my thoughts, he asks, voice rough, "You l-you love me?"</p><p> </p><p>I look at him, and he looks at me. Is it possible? I never thought . . . but it has to be, doesn't it? How else . . .</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah." It comes out a breath, barely audible, but he must hear it, because his face turns red. "Yeah, I-I love you." The words are so foreign in my mouth. I don't think I've ever told anyone. Not my parents, not Olive, not any of my other friends. There wasn't really anyone to tell who wouldn't torture me mercilessly with the knowledge. I'm not sure I've ever even thought the words, even admitted them to myself.</p><p> </p><p>I am confessing my love to Hansen. Mark Hansen. How is this my life.</p><p> </p><p>Oh stars. There are tears in his eyes. They start small, like everything does with him, but grow until they drip down his cheeks. His face is as close to the same color as his hair as I think it's ever been.</p><p> </p><p>"I-I think I've always loved you." Why would I say that?! He's already crying! "Ever since we met, I . . . I don't know, it's like. It's always been you. I've never - never even really thought about it, it's always been there. Loving parties, hating school, making friends, loving you-" My voice breaks, and I take that opportunity to force myself to shut up.</p><p> </p><p>Hansen sniffs, hard, and wipes his nose, then his eyes. It doesn't really help, his face is a mess. It always is when he cries. I forget sometimes how weepy he can be. "Stars, but you're an ugly crier," I half laugh, half sob. "You've got snot everywhere."</p><p> </p><p>He laughs a little too, and comes closer to me, reaching out toward me face. He hesitates a moment, then wipes tears off my cheeks I didn't realize were there. "R-really? That l-long?"</p><p> </p><p>My throat is completely closed up now, so I just nod. Always. Forever. I love him. And he . . .</p><p> </p><p>"I-I love you too." He swallows thickly. "Prob-ably always. I don't know."</p><p> </p><p>I don't know what to say to that. "That - so?" is what comes out.</p><p> </p><p>Hansen nods, swallows again. "I mean, I didn't really g-get it, at first, you know? I thought - I don't kn-know, it took me a while to realize that it was something, um, I don't know. D-different. Than just friendship. I mean, we've known each other how l-long? It was just sort of . . . ingrained in me or something. I think I realized it when . . . well, all that, uh, stuff went down, you kn-know, with Olive, and our parents? You gave her a place to stay, when I couldn't, and I . . . I remember thinking that I loved you. So much. And then it . . . I don't know, hit me like a ton of bricks. I-I <em>loved</em> you. And I didn't know what to do with that. So I . . . faked it. I pretended everything was normal until I almost believed it. But you kept <em>doing </em>things, things that kept reminding me how wonderful you are. And I-"</p><p> </p><p>He pales, somehow maintaining the red in his face at the same time. "I kissed you. While you were high on love potion. What the  - why were you apologizing? I-I can't believe I did that! What - I'm so sorry - what's wrong with me-"</p><p> </p><p>"Hey Hansen," I say, regaining composure at least partially because the way he rambles always calms me down and makes me smile. "Chill out."</p><p> </p><p>He blinks and looks at me. And then he <em>looks </em>at me.</p><p> </p><p>"I-I love you," I say. "And you-you love me. We-we're in love. That's a thing.</p><p> </p><p>I see him realize it. His expression is so beautiful it hurts.</p><p> </p><p>"So let's do something about it."</p><p> </p><p>Hansen smiles suddenly, radiantly. I have to kiss that smile.</p><p> </p><p>So I do.</p><p> </p><p>And it's just as beautiful as I ever hoped it would be.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p>
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